


too far gone

by skirt



Category: South Park
Genre: Gen, Growing Up, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:42:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skirt/pseuds/skirt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You never spoke about how Henrietta never listened to “goth bands” anymore and instead traded them in for bands like Vampire Weekend and The Shins and The Kooks, or how Ethan watched a concerning amount of cartoons aimed towards preteens even though he was sixteen, or how sometimes he’d sit on one side of the room drawing fanart on his tablet and she’d be reorganizing her closet or moving around her posters or painting her wall on the other side of the room and you’d be sitting in the middle of the room with your legs crossed staring at a slowly burning candle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	too far gone

**Author's Note:**

> i am sorry

You all shared your deepest emotions through poetry, but none of you ever really spoke. Instead, it was like a bond. Like speaking wasn’t necessary. Words never really got through to one another, because they meant nothing.

“Where were you in math today?” “Smoking in the parking lot.”

It was completely and utterly meaningless. 

It meant so much more to share thoughts with a glance, or to read out the words you scribbled down in the dirty notebook during history. It meant so much more to be able to nudge Henrietta in the ribs and she’d know that you thought that guy standing over there wasn’t really as shitty of a person as he acted. To be able to raise your eyebrow at Ethan and he’d know that you needed to bum a cigarette because your pack was in your bag, which you forgot in your locker yet again. 

It wasn’t necessary for any of you to say anything about how Georgie went too far when he was in fourth grade and stabbed a kid to death. (You swear he’d killed him once before, but that wouldn’t make any sense.) It was never mentioned how he was sent to Juvi and how you’d probably never hang out with him again. 

You never spoke of that time you walked in on Henrietta crying and you hugged her for the first time, or the time you were about to knock on Ethan’s door to ask him to come to Benny’s but you stopped yourself after you heard things being thrown from across and house and yelling from him and his father. You never spoke of that time the power went out for three days and you all curled up on Henrietta’s bed under her thickest blanket and watched Doctor Who on Netflix because she was the only one who had a generator. (You also never spoke of how lame it was that you all actually liked Doctor Who.) You never spoke of when Ethan climbed the tree in your backyard to get to your bedroom in the pouring rain because his dad kicked him out and he needed a place to stay. 

You never spoke of how Henrietta grew out her hair for a year when she was fourteen, then cut it all off the day she turned fifteen. You never spoke of how all the assholes who went to your school insulted all of you when they were still in earshot, or how you could tell that it bothered them as much as it bothered you. You never spoke of all the times you’d sit around watching candle wax melt while looking down to scratch something with no sentimental value down in your notebook, or that time Ethan took off his jacket in the middle of the summer because not even the AC would help this weather, and you saw the healing scars on his arms before he realized what he did and put his jacket back on. Neither of them ever brought up the stupid stick-and-poke tattoo of Spiderman’s head they put on your wrist, or the one of Batman on Ethan’s, or the one of Wonder Woman on Henrietta’s. You were glad for that.

They never made fun of you for having to take anxiety and depression pills every so often so you wouldn’t feel like you were going to explode, or how Ethan ended up in jail for burning down an abandoned building and his father left him there for two days. You never spoke about how Henrietta never listened to “goth bands” anymore and instead traded them in for bands like Vampire Weekend and The Shins and The Kooks, or how Ethan watched a concerning amount of cartoons aimed towards preteens even though he was sixteen, or how sometimes he’d sit on one side of the room drawing fanart on his tablet and she’d be reorganizing her closet or moving around her posters or painting her wall on the other side of the room and you’d be sitting in the middle of the room with your legs crossed staring at a slowly burning candle. 

None of you ever spoke how you were the only one to never change, and that scared you. You still listened to a lot of Joy Division and Nine Inch Nails and you still watched a lot of violent crime shows. You were afraid that they’d stop finding you interesting. You don’t think they’d ever found you that interesting. You were the least significant member of the group, and by far the least important. Ethan stopped coming to your house soaking wet in the middle of the night even though you knew very well that his situation has not changed over the years. Henrietta stopped texting you during class and stopped skipping to sit with you in Ethan’s car, which you always left before school ended because he never looked too happy to see you filling the entire thing up with smoke. 

They both seemed to do other things with their time that didn’t include you, and you had nothing. You had no one. The glances stopped having a meaning, they just became glances. The nudges stopped meaning “look at that guy”, they just became nudges that became annoying over time. The silence stopped feeling like something and just became lonely. And not long later, you just became alone. By the end of eleventh grade, you stopped sitting in Ethan’s shitty car during lunch and you stopped hanging around in Henrietta’s room, not because you wanted to, but because you didn’t feel welcome. 

Neither of them noticed when you spent several days in the hospital after accidentally overdosing on your anxiety pills. Neither of them noticed when you had one of the worst panic attacks of your life because your therapist thought that you overdosed on purpose and thought it’d be best for you to not have them within your reach for a while, and you had to go back to the hospital. 

You didn’t have any friends anymore. Henrietta never gave you small smiles when you passed her in the hallway, Ethan never gave you nods. Not even that kid Craig came to the back of the school and asked for a cigarette from you. It was just you.

***

It never really occurred to you how terrible being alone could be. All the antidepressants in the world couldn’t help you now. You were too far gone. 

You don’t think they actually noticed something was wrong until you slit your wrists so deep that you bled out all over your bathtub. Maybe they heard the sirens going down the street. Not much bad happened in the town since those four kids who always fucked everything up grew older, so if something was necessary for sirens, it must be serious, because that was rare. You like to think that they followed the sound of sirens to your house, and that they watched as they wheeled out a body bag, and that they saw your parents crying and knew it was you. But that thought would not make you happy, because you were alone and it doesn’t count if they didn’t care until you were dead.

**Author's Note:**

> i lied i'm not sorry
> 
> [follow me tho](http://crowlery.tumblr.com/)


End file.
